


sorry don't cover it

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [53]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Rebuilding Friendships, Recovery, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Her voice mail was to the point; a date, a time. No preamble, no pleasantries. Didn't even to expect to get that much really. It's too much to hope that this is fixable, but it's something.Time to face the music.
Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [53]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604665
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	1. double down

Here we go, Chickadee. Hour of doom. Time to jump off the ledge yet again.

You’re really making a habit of that, aren’t you?

Jane stands awkwardly in the lab entrance, holding her arms close to her chest. Not very Jane-like behavior, but then, you haven’t been feeling very Jane-like lately. “Hello Doctor.”

Dr. Mortum looks up from her work desk, frowning as she puts a screwdriver down. “You’re here.”

“I… I got the time right, didn’t I?”

Mortum glances at her watch, “You’re on time. I… merely lost track of it.”

“So…”

“So then.” Mortum stands up, dusting off her labcoat as she walks over to Jane. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” She sucks in her breath, tries to regain her composure. “If what you’ve been saying is all true… then. Prove it. Leave this body here and come back in your real one.”

“Leave…?” Jane wraps her arms around herself. What is Mortum planning? “What if I say no?”

“Then you leave here, and you don’t come back. And I will… do you the favor of pretending we never knew each other.”

“And if I agree?”

“Well, that rather depends on how our discussion goes.” Mortum’s smile is all teeth and no warmth. “And this time? Don’t forget my gun.”


	2. the lights are on, but

Mortum stares down the woman across from her. A stranger in a friend’s clothing. It just goes to show, you think you can finally trust someone. Can finally open up to them. And they turn out to be an escaped government project hijacking another person’s body. How much of Jane was an act? A con to get her attention, string her along?

“Okay.” Jane whispers, still not meeting Mortum’s eyes. “F–fine then.”

That takes her off guard, “You’re agreeing?” Not the answer Dr. Mortum expected to get. This was supposed to be one last chance for Jane to disappoint, not for–

“I d–d–don’t want it to end like this. Between us.” A strangled sob escapes Jane’s chest. “I’m so tired of lying. It’s like… I’ve trapped myself in a labyrinth. But I can’t even see the walls.”

Mortum has to hold back the impulse to hold Jane’s hand. Has to remind herself: this one has lied to you from the word ‘go.’ Made a fool of her, completely.

Jane stands up from her chair, wobbling on unsteady legs. “I’m going to have to lay down somewhere.”

Mortum follows her gaze over to the couch on the far wall. “You have to lie down?” How does the transfer processor work? Is there some sort of visible signifier? What happens when Adrestia departs her victim?

“Mm.” Jane slowly walks across the room. “Something tells me, you’re not about to catch me in your arms when I fall.”

“How long does it take?” Dr. Mortum pushes her glasses up against her eyes. Jane lies back on the couch, folding her hands in front of each other on her chest.

“It’s instant. I still need to… physically get here though. I don’t know how long that will take. Three hours?” Jane’s eyes flutter, the slightest shift of the head to look back at Dr. Mortum.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

That gets a small smile, and Jane looks away. “Words are cheap you know.” The woman exhales and goes limp.

Dr. Mortum waits a minute, watching for any signs of Jane waking up again.

Nothing.

Still nothing.

Slow, careful, she stands up, walks over. Puts a hand to Jane’s wrist, feels the pulse. Slow, but steady. Hand to the forehead, normal temperature. “Jane?”

Still nothing.

No one’s home.


	3. take the fall

Shock of warm air, nausea coiling in your stomach as your body and mind struggle to reconcile with each other once more. Even before your vision swims back bolts of panic are striking through you. Curl tight around a pillow as you try to manage your breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

You’re doing this. You’re really doing this. You have to now. Can’t leave Jane behind. You owe her that much. Equally pressing: you owe Dr. Mortum a proper explanation.

You manage to hold back the nausea until you make it to the bathroom. Not that there’s much to expel. Bile and dry heaves. You and a healthy appetite haven’t exactly been on speaking terms lately. The mirror is hardly any kinder. Everything’s wrong wrong wrong.

Splash water in your face, then rinse out the last of the bile. Blow your nose. You slap your cheeks and contort your face to reset your expression into something slightly more neutral than ‘terrified.’ Then it’s out with the make-up and razor. Clean up your face, cancel-out the blue tinge along your jaw. Blend in the discolored scar-tissue cutting across your left eye, the marks across your face.

It won’t stand up to a close inspection - nothing ever does. But it’s good enough for the mirror. You can do this. You can get through this.

Black tights, thick – enough to hide any hint of the orange brands that run down your skin. A knee-length skirt over that. Put on a fresh under-shirt, quick as you can manage to minimize the amount of time with your top exposed. Over that a deep purple long-sleeved shirt that gets tucked into the waistband of your skirt. Finally on top of that you sling your shawl over your shoulders, taking a moment to adjust how the fabric drapes over your body, covering your torso completely. A broach over the collarbone serves to hold the two sides together.

Anything else?

Just some bobby pins to keep your hair in place and out of your face.

There. You feel slightly more human now. Will it be enough? Check your purse before slipping the strap over your head. Emergency phone, knife, brass knuckles, library book, compact, chocolate granola bar. The basic essentials.

Jane would pull it off better. But you aren’t Jane right now. Not Adrestia either, for that matter. You’re just you.

How inadequate.

You don’t have the original case for Mortum’s teleportation gun. Have to make do with an old suitcase you found for cheap at a thrift store. It’s not pretty, but as long as Mortum gets her gun, that’s what matters. The thing’s no good to you anyway. Whatever charge or power source it was operating under apparently died after you used it.

It’ll be a relief to get it out of your space. It’s been buried under your bed for weeks now. Haven’t been sure what to do with it since you and the doctor weren’t on speaking terms. Until today at any rate. Maybe today will be the day you fix that.

Maybe pigs will fly.


	4. don't

It’s a long walk across the city. You don’t dare hire a taxi. Briefly entertain the idea of borrowing a car, there’s a man idling on the curb a couple blocks down. As you near, you can hear him spouting curses into the phone. Shouting abuse at someone. Family? No – co-workers. Have to will your fists to unclench.

It’s tempting. It wouldn’t even be hard to nudge the man to leave the car, keys and all. He’s a piece of work. He’d deserve it – and then he’ll take out his anger on some one else. Whomever he can reach.

You walk on past. Better to stay on foot. To stay out of other people’s heads.

It’s a long walk. And a hot day.


	5. grace

The doors let you in. No traps, no gas, no sirens. But then again, if the doctor was going to turn against you, you suppose she wouldn’t tip her hand at the front door.

Lure your prey in first before you go for the neck.

What would Julia say if she knew about all this? Well. She probably wouldn’t want to walk in to this situation with no back-up. Ortega can be hypocritical like that. You run your thumb under your purse strap as you try to steel your nerves. The only way to untangle this knot is to follow it through to the end.

There’s always an unsettling feeling the first time you enter a place you’d reserved for Jane, or vis versa. The perspective on everything is shifted ever-so-slightly and your own body feels like even more of a stranger then usual.

But everything is the same as you remember it from this morning from Jane’s perspective. The same hallway, the same decorations, the same doors, the same laboratory. The only real difference is you can feel the weight of telepathic dampeners pressing down on your mind. You shouldn’t be surprised, you suppose. She’s had weeks to prepare before inviting you. Is this going to be a trap? If the Directive is waiting maybe you’ll have time to stab yourself before they can subdue you.

Maybe.

You hold your breath, putting the suitcase in front of you as you step inside. Dr. Mortum is sitting on a chair pulled up to Jane’s body. Really, Ace’s body, you suppose. Mortum looks up at you as you enter straightening her back. “Ariadne Becker.” Is she holding Jane’s hand?

Your voice catches in your throat as she says your name. You’d confessed to having been Sidestep back in the day, sure, but the number of people who could connect those two names could be counted on your hands. Even less for the people that should even know you were still alive.

Pull yourself together, Chickadee. “You d–don’t sound surprised.” You put the briefcase down on the worktable, push it away from you. “Your gun, sorry about the w–w–wait.”

“I’ve had time to… look into your story.” Dr. Mortum gently places Jane’s hand back on top of her chest, Sleeping Beauty style. Almost reverently. Did she… have feelings for Jane? The thought never occurred to you before, but it feels like a puzzle piece clicking into place. That’s not – you never meant to – oof.

You keep your face blank, this isn’t like with Ortega. You can let your emotions get the better of you. “I w–wasn’t lying.”

“No, it appears not.” Dr. Mortum stands up from her seat. Smooths out the wrinkles in her lab coat, surreptitiously slipping one hand into a pocket. A gun? Makes sense. You would, in her position.

“Well… I–I’m here. You wanted… answers, right? Here I– here I am.” You flop your arms in a helpless gesture.

“I did want answers, yes.” She adjusts her glasses, staring you down from across the room. “The first one being, is it true?”

“Is… is w–what true?”

“About what you are, what you say you are?”

Of course. Of course that’s the first thing she wants to know. It’s the only thing that matters. That you aren’t human, aren’t real. It’s a good thing you haven’t ate, already emptied your stomach. Nausea’s not much of a threat, as discomforting as it is. “I–I–I’m not lying.” You stretching your right arm over your head, letting the shawl fall back against your shoulder. Try not to shake as you pull the sleeve back. Past scars, burn marks, to the broken line where the orange tattoos become visible. Sharp and artificial, sitting unnaturally vibrant, a strange contrast against your pale sun-starved skin.

“Merde…” Mortum steps towards you. If she had any doubts before, they’re gone now. “Can I touch it? Ah – touch you?”

Your stomach twists into knots. Feeling light-headed even as you work to control your breathing. Disgust would be easier to deal with than whatever this is. Fascination? Curiosity? The doctor is a consummate scientist, you have to have known this was a possibility, Ariadne. You’re an object of study. Strapped to a table under too bright lights, blinding out everyone into shadows.

Why’d you take your shades off, fuck fuck fuck.

The hand holding your sleeve up clenches into a fist. “Okay.” You say. You feel small, exposed.

“I have just never had the… the opportunity to – hrm…” Mortum swiftly crosses the distance on the room. You stand stock-still. Don’t move. Don’t back away. Don’t fight. It’s never worth it.

Warm hands touch your arm, a contrast against the cool air. Not cruelly, but it’s not like Julia’s touch. No gentle ignorance here, feeling for the damage you’ve done yourself. This is a knowing examination. Assessment, judgement. You turn your head away, stare down at the floor, will yourself to stay standing, stay still, stay silent.

Don’t think about the hands holding your arm, turning it this way that.

It’s a mercy when she finally lets you go, lets your arm drop. You shrug the shawl back down and over your arm, pull your sleeve back into place.

“Thank you.” You bring yourself to glance up at Dr. Mortum as she steps back, out of your personal space. Never seen that expression on her face before. Almost like she felt guilty. Disturbed? “You were allowed to say no, you know.”

You swallow back the bile in your throat. “I’m– it–it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Mortum almost sounds regretful. “I am sorry.”

“That’s–” You shake your head, fold your arms tight against yourself. “I–I–I’m the one that should saying that. I should have– I should have done this months ago.”

“True. Or from the start.”

You bark out a bitter laugh. “You’re smarter than th–that, d–doc. You’d never have trusted me. Or w–w–worked with me.”

She frowns at that, puts a hand on the worktable. “That… is probably a fair assessment. And considering what you are… I can understand your caution around scientists.”

You close your eyes, tilting your head back. “What I am.”

“Ah–” sharp intake of breath, “my apologies.”

“Another reason not to– not to tell people.” You step away from Mortum, gritting your teeth as you glare a hole in the floor. “It d–d–doesn’t matter w–what I do… I’m a _thing_ first, above everything else.”

“Mon amie, it was a poor choice of words on my part. I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit.” You cling to the anger, something to ground yourself with. “Y–you think I haven’t been down this road before? You t–tell people and suddenly that’s– that’s all you are to them. Not a person anymore. Curiosity at best. A th–threat or a t–target at worst.”

“You’ve told others?” Mortum’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“W–what? Well there was – No! That’s not what– fuck.” You hold your head in your hands. “I–I–I meant I’ve… been through it before. W–with being transgender.” It feels absurd to be reluctant to give that up in comparison to the bigger secret. “It–it’s better when nobody knows.”

“Ah.” You can hear her step towards you, brace yourself for a hand on the shoulder that never comes. “Now that, I can empathize with.”

You snarl as you turn to face her. “D–don’t patronize me.” Her expression catches you off guard, and something in the way she’s carrying herself. “W-wait. You don’t mean– y–y–you’re…?”

“I’m surprised you hadn’t already figured it out.” She glances at you, embarrassed. “Older, single woman, in a traditionally male-dominated field… bit of a social recluse… that is still the stereotype, isn’t it?”

“You d–don’t have any cats.” You feel foolish even as you say it.

Amusement flits across her face. “They don’t respect the equipment.”

A pang of nostalgia sparks in your chest. “Th–they sure don’t.”

“So… no one else knows then?”

“No.” You shake your head.

“Not even Charge?”

“Are you c–c–crazy?” Your eyes go wide. “I–I–I’m d–defect– _escaped_ government property. She works for the goddamned government.”

That gets a frown from her. “Aren’t the two of you in a relationship?”

If you could melt into the floor right now that would be great. You groan, face on fire. “W–w–why in the _fuck_ d–d–do you think that?”

She grimaces. “I’m sorry, my source must have been mistaken.”

“No. N–no they aren’t.” You cover your face. Really, you have no right be this surprised. You knew from the beginning that letting yourself get swept up with the Rangers again was going to be bad for your goal of staying under the radar. How many people know? How many have put things together, like Dr. Mortum’s done? How long until something gets back to the Directive?

“Truly, then?”

You clutch at the hem of your shawl, nails digging into your palms through the fabric. “I… I know I shouldn’t be… I know that’s even– that’s even worse then what I d–d–did to you. Fuck.” You’re not crying right now. Not here. Not in front of her. Not like this. It’s not happening. “I– I can’t take the risk.”

“Mon amie…” Mortum places a hand on your shoulder, her touch light – tentative. “You took one now.” She smiles at you, a small gesture.

You blink out the blasted water that keeps getting in your eyes. “Look I– I didn’t want to lose you, okay?” You suck down air, slowly let it back out. “I n–n–need your help. I… I c–can’t do this alone.”

“Alright…” Dr. Mortum pulls back from, pushing up her glasses. “I won’t lie, this whole thing has been… hard. But… I am willing to give this another try.”

You feel like you could collapse to the floor. A massive pressure on your gut, gone. “Thank you,” you croak out, “I know I d–d–don’t deserve it…”

“That’s why it’s called ‘grace’ mon amie.” She smiles at you, showing teeth. “Now… why don’t we sit down, have a drink. I’m not done asking questions.”

It’s a little awkward sitting feet away from Jane’s comatose body. That is, you supposed, probably part of the point. No soda, so you make do with water while the doctor nurses a glass of brandy. The dampeners are bad enough, you don’t need to be messing up your head even further.

With your free hand you trace a pattern across your leg, through your skirt. Old habit to keep your hands busy. Suppose Dr. Mortum might be the only person on the planet right now with enough knowledge to put together what the pattern is.

“What was even your plan, anyway? Using the suit I built you?”

“Ah.” You wince. Not exactly your proudest… what, two years? “D–d–does it matter?”

“I stand by what I told Jane about you.” Mortum meets your eyes, staring you down. Challenging you to say something.

You frown, look away. “Honestly…? Y–you’re not wrong. The w–whole idea was… doomed from the start.” Slump down in your chair, glass in hand. “I d–d–don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

You had a plan. Once. It was cold and inhuman, cunning and ruthless. Everything the Farm trained you to be, worked to beat you into. Better yet, you had experience from being out in the field, years of working against villains and other ‘subversive’ elements. You knew all the pitfalls to avoid, generations of mistakes, example after example of what not to do.

And everything had still fallen apart. That you weren’t already dead, imprisoned, or worse, was something of a small miracle. At your core you were still too weak, too emotional, too quick to emphasize with targets. You already failed at being a person, and now you’re failing at being a machine.

“So, Shroud is also a Cuckoo then.” Dr. Mortum’s voice pulls you out of your daze. Have you been staring at Jane this whole time? “And she has a history with Jane.”

“A history w–with Ace, anyway.” You tear your eyes away from Jane’s body, glance back towards Mortum. “I had no idea.”

“No doubt you wouldn’t have… rescued her if you knew.”

“It’s like I t–told you the first time. I needed a n–nobody. A face to go where I couldn’t. At first I… I told myself it was only temporary.” You shake your head, focusing in on your glass of water. “That I d–d–didn’t have a choice. Now… I feel like I owe her.”

Mortum follows your gaze back to Jane. She says something, soft, barely audible. Then says, louder now, “What would happen if you just… stopped possessing her?”

You chew at the inside of your cheek. “She’ll stay like this. Get w–weaker. Maybe d–die? She’d need care to handle, uh, nutrition and the like. I wish there w–w–was something more I could do. Actually…” You frown to yourself, “I’m… beginning to think that…”

“You weren’t as alone in her head as you thought?”

“…yeah.” You put your glass down, wring your hands. “Sometimes, Jane would… do or say something and I c–c–couldn’t figure out why I did it.”

“Such as the severity of your reaction to the video with Ace and Shroud.”

“…s–sure.”

“Shroud might have, ah, taken, Ace’s mind, but there’s more to our sense of self than just brain matter.” Mortum drums her fingers against her arm rest, falling into the problem. “I’d have to consult with a friend of mine who specializes in neurology. But it wouldn’t surprise me if there was something left behind…”

“Th–then maybe there’s something I can do…”

“Well, telepathy-related technologies are one of my specialities.”

“Doctor?”

“I… hesitate to ask this but, would you mind leaving Jane with me? For the time being, anyway? I’d like to run some tests.”

Your stomach turns at that thought. “Tests? S–she isn’t a guinea pig.”

Mortum avoids your glare, “That’s not what I meant. Non-invasive only. I have an idea, but I want to rule out some other possibilities first.”

Comatose or not, the thought of putting Jane in the care of a scientist makes your skin crawl. Even if it is Dr. Mortum. But if she can help her…

“Okay.”


End file.
